Feeling Broken, Undeterred

On Friday morning, a man drove into the parking lot of Temple Beth El. I will not use this space to discuss what he did or the actions of the police or the violation my community feels. And knowing that the readership of Nu?Detroit is primarily Jewish Detroiters, I will not tell you how the incident made feel.

Instead, I want to speak to my friends who are not from a marginalized community to tell you how it feels to me to be Jewish in America today. This weekend. After 60 hours. After countless calls and texts with staff and lay leaders and members. After reading press releases and e-mails and watching Instagram videos. This moment where I finally let my guard down after 60 hours and allow myself to feel.

I feel broken.

As the President-Elect of Temple Beth El, I walk into a synagogue multiple times a week. Sometimes it is for meetings. Sometimes it is to sign checks and pay bills. Sometimes it is to drop my children off. Sometimes it is to go to services. Sometimes it is to go to celebrations. Every single time I walk into Temple Beth El, I am greeted by security.

As someone living a multifaith life with many friends of different faiths, I often find myself walking into churches. And every time I do, part of me is momentarily surprised that I can just open the door without being buzzed in. Every time, I look around surprised that there is no security guard. Every time, I glance around for cameras, wondering what is protecting the space I am in. Because I have never had the privilege of walking into a synagogue without security precautions in place.

When I walk into Beth El, I am usually greeted by Morris. Morris is a kind man. I am often late leaving Temple because I stop at his desk and we talk about sports – sometimes my kids’ sports, sometimes Michigan football, sometimes the Lions or the Tigers. When Ken is there, he asks me if my son has put on pants yet – perennially amused by way he has shown up to Temple in the Michigan deep freeze wearing shorts. Sometimes Chuck is there. I don’t know Chuck well, but we greet each other.

This morning, I walked in the building and Morris was there. Morris is not usually there on Sundays, but today he was. And I walked up and asked him if I could give him a hug.

I did not have words, but I quietly teared up as I walked away because Morris was the man – along with Juan from the maintenance staff  – who put themselves between hate speech and Temple families on Friday. They were subjected to racial epithets because they had the audacity to protect us.

I have spent the past 60 hours talking about our wonderful security team, as well as the security apparatus of the Jewish Federation. But what I want my friends from outside of the Jewish community to know is the tax that hate places on us.

Hate taxes us. It taxes our resources as we must raise funds to pay for personnel and emergency response systems and who knows what else to keep us safe. It taxes our mental health as people have to ask themselves do I feel safe walking into a Jewish building or wearing a Jewish symbol or practicing my faith publicly. It taxes our leadership – myself included – who would much rather be thinking about a remodel of the bathrooms (my personal pet project at the moment) but instead must debate between the openness and inclusiveness that a congregation and a community should be allowed to have and security that forces us back behind the locked ghetto walls.

For my friends who are not part of a marginalized community, who have not felt hatred directed at you for who you are, I do not expect you to understand what this moment feels like. In fact, I am jealous that you do not have to understand what it feels like. But I do ask for your support in fighting hate. Not just hate against Jews. But fight hate in all it's forms. Because hate is insidious. It burrows inside and it distorts reality. It warps minds. It divides communities. It metasticizes. It destroys.

But lastly, even in this moment, where I let myself feel exhausted and broken and angry and frustrated and sad, I would like everyone outside of the Jewish community to understand that hate will never dissuade me for a moment. It will never distract me. I am a Jew. I may struggle with my faith, but I love my religion and will never stopped growing and struggling and learning as a Jew. Even when I have felt marginalized and isolated within my community, I have never stopped being proud of my community. And even when I feel fear, that fear will never be keep me away from synagogue that I love.